Silenced and Shamed
by mm-chan
Summary: After being kicked out of home, Kankuro ends up living under same roof with the last safe adult in his life, Baki, whose hospitality turns out to be all but a stroke of luck. Baki x Kankuro. Slight Kankuro x Kiba. AU. Non-con. Abuse.


**Silenced and Shamed**

 **Summary:** After being kicked out of home, Kankuro ends up living under same roof with the last safe adult in his life, Baki, whose hospitality turns out to be all but a stroke of luck.

Baki x Kankuro. Slight Kankuro x Kiba. AU. Non-con. Abuse.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Inspired by the heart-breaking phenomenon where young men are forced to commit sexual favors in order to have a roof over their head. It affects people throughout the spectrum of sexuality and gender, and it happens right before our eyes, yet we might still not really see it._

 _Reading those touching human fates struck a chord in my heart._

 _There's a theme of non-consensuality and abuse in this story, but it's nothing graphic I swear. If you know these themes will make you feel bad then maybe don't read this._

* * *

Hand shaking, Kankuro pressed the gun against Baki's temple.

That fright suited him rather handsomely, Kankuro decided, and nudged his head with the barrel.

Now he was the prosecutor, the judge and the executioner. And justice was just one trigger pull away.

Baki closed his eyes and his lips trembled, it looked like he was chanting a filthy prayer to whichever unjust god he decided to resort in a moment of desperate need.

Kankuro pressed the metal tighter against his skin. For once, he was in the position of power, yet it didn't give him the satisfaction he yearned. Surprising them both, he suddenly pulled the gun away and placed it on his own head instead.

Baki's eyes opened, and the prayer froze to his lips.

* * *

The knock at his door startled him on a sunny Thursday evening. Drying his hands hastily on the kitchen towel, Baki abandoned the dishes and strode into the hallway.

At his door, head hung, stood a familiar boy he had been tutoring all summer.

"Kankuro?" he asked and let him in.

Timidly, the boy lifted his face. "Can I stay the night in here?"

Baki's gaze was jamming on his shirt, where three uppermost buttons were opened (a habit he had patiently tried to root out of the boy, but without much success it seemed), and his tie was loosened. Such disrespect towards his school uniform would've earned him yet another lecture, but the ripped seam on his shoulder and the tear on his knee saved him from that.

"What's the matter?" Baki asked.

Kankuro squeezed his school bag a little tighter.

When no answer ensued but only continued silence, Baki cleared his throat.

"Kankuro?"

The boy lifted his weight from leg to another. "Father saw me kiss a boy when he came to pick me up from school."

Baki eyed his disheveled, brown hair and the little cut on his lower lip. The sight of Kankuro silently cowering in his spot made something quiver in his heart.

"Of course you can stay. And we'll get you a new uniform, alright?"

A stiff nod and then the boy loosened his grip on his bag.

"Come here," Baki told and led the way to the living room. He sat down on the sofa, patting the seat next to him in a welcoming manner. Shyly, the beat-up boy did as was expected.

"So, you're into boys?" the man asked casually and lit a cigar.

"Yes," Kankuro admitted quietly.

Baki looked at him worriedly. He offered him the cigar but the boy wouldn't have it.

"It's alright. It's not your fault. And your father's an old-fashioned man."

The boy nodded quietly and held his hands between his knees. His position looked awfully tensed.

"Who was that boy you were kissing?" Baki asked and took a drag on the cigar.

A different kind of tension took over the boy. With a reddish color on his cheeks, Kankuro cleared his throat. "He's a friend of mine. We've known each other for a while."

"I see," the man replied. "Have you done more than kissed?"

"No," the boy said as quietly as possible as the color on his face deepened. "He's my first boyfriend."

Baki considered it for a moment. "There are things you should know, before you proceed further. Have they told you about it at school?"

"Only what we need to know if we're with a girl," the boy told and coughed at the smoke.

Baki took a puff and watched as the smoke dissolved in the room. "There are things you should definitely know. Otherwise you'll get hurt."

Kankuro's head snapped into his direction, a frightened look on his face.

"Don't worry. I'll help you. I've been there, and back in my days, they didn't even tell us how to be with the opposite sex."

His answer seemed to relax the boy somewhat. When Baki offered him the cigar again, this time the boy accepted it.

* * *

Hopefully, hot water would wash away the memory of his father's angry touch from his skin. It was shame soap couldn't make these bruises disappear. It had been just a kiss. At the school yard, he had opened his eyes and looked at Kiba, who was equally mesmerized, and then seen his father's car right behind his boyfriend. In that moment, he had understood he was in trouble.

He pulled the shower curtain aside and the sound of metallic shower rings gliding along the rod filled the bathroom with a loud rattle.

Just when he had put on his dirty boxers, the door opened without a knock.

"Here. I thought you'd want to wear something clean," Baki told and put a pile of clothes on top of the washing machine. He took his toothbrush out of the mirror cabinet and started to brush his teeth.

Judging by the way the man was looking at him expectantly, Kankuro concluded it had not been just a heartfelt suggestion. He took off his used underwear and tried to ignore the stare directed at his way. There was a chance the man was only looking at his bruises.

Rather hastily, he went through the pile of clean clothes, which appeared to be some comfy underwear and a kimono. The kimono was a little too short for his liking, but at least the boxers were less revealing.

* * *

They watched television in a cloud of smoke. Rather than to feel offended by the bad smell, it was easier to participate and take a puff every once in a while. He wouldn't be here for long, after all. And his father never let him smoke.

However relaxed the atmosphere was, he couldn't quite brush off the feeling he had. In his short kimono, he felt bare an exposed compared to his tutor, who was lounging in his black pajamas – buttoned up all the way to his chin – accompanied with thick, velvet dressing gown.

Baki glanced at the clock and stubbed the cigar end. "It's getting late. We should go to bed."

It appeared he had only one bedroom. Kankuro was about to leave the room and go back to the couch, but Baki had already closed the door behind him. As if that had not been an implication clear enough, his velvet gown brushed against his bare legs when the man nonchalantly reached for something from the desk Kankuro was leaning against.

"Is your father behind all those bruises?"

"Yes," Kankuro admitted and fastened the kimono little tighter around him.

Baki looked at him with sympathy. "I'll make sure you won't have to go through that ever again."

And then, the man undressed his dressing gown and settled down on his side of the bed. Kankuro walked to the other side and pulled the covers aside.

"Are you going to sleep with a kimono on?" the man asked like it was the most ridiculous of things.

It was a little silly to sleep with one on, he knew. Rather hesitantly, he let go of that piece of clothing with his back turned to his tutor. On the bed, he pulled the blanket up all the way to his chin.

* * *

He really couldn't go to school without his uniform. And the one he had was partially ripped up. If he showed up in that, he would only be sent right back home to re-dress.

Baki had promised to get him a new one. Meanwhile, Kankuro stayed in his spacious refuge and marveled at the light that poured in through windows in every compass point. He had texted his brother and sister and told them he was alright, that he was staying with Baki for some time.

Kiba had been worried about him, too, and asked if they could see in here after school. Without hesitation, Kankuro had complied.

And now he and his boyfriend had this whole place for themselves, as Baki was still running errands around the city. Kissing him made yesterday seem like only a murky nightmare. About those dubious implications from his tutor he chose not to open up, however. It could only be a misunderstanding on his part, and revealing his suspicions might lead him to lose the only safe place he had left.

The sound of front door opening got them to break out of their sweet kissing. Baki walked into the living room only to see a blushing Kiba lying on top of ashamed Kankuro. Hastily, Kiba stood up and bowed slightly to the man.

"I'm Kiba, Kankuro's friend."

Baki nodded rather stiffly. "Nice to meet you."

When Kiba sat down, Baki waved a neat garment bag in his hands and looked at Kankuro. "I got you a new uniform. You can attend to your classes again on Monday."

"Thank you," Kankuro said and glanced at his boyfriend from the corner of his eye.

"I'm afraid I have to get going," Kiba said apologetically and picked up his school bag from the floor.

A little sad, Kankuro walked him to the door. His tutor was nowhere to be seen, and before they departed he kissed him quickly on the lips.

Soon after, Baki came to the hallway carrying the garment bag. He unzipped it and hung the school uniform on a hanger to air out.

"He's a pleasant young man," he pointed out.

"Thank you. He is," Kankuro admitted.

"Did you consider going to his place after your father kicked you out?"

"No."

"Why not?" Baki asked.

"I can't go there. He has a good family," Kankuro explained.

The man seemed to understand what he was trying to say and dropped the subject.

Friday evening was just like the previous one, except now a carafe containing brown liquid stood on the coffee table. In the middle of smoke, Kankuro was given an expensive glass with small amount of alcohol on the bottom.

He knew it was rude to turn down hospitality but he just couldn't bring the glass to his lips.

"What do you think your father will do when you go back home?"

Kankuro's grip on the glass tightened. "I don't know."

Baki blew a cloud of smoke into the room. "Does he still beat you up with the buckle end of the belt?"

The scent of alcohol wafted into Kankuro's nose and he looked at the glass in his hand. Even in his childhood, discipline had been strict and none of them had been saved from physical punishments. Baki, their long-standing family friend and now his tutor for the past summer, had often been a welcomed voice of reason at their Sunday dinners. But unfortunately, their father had often appeared to be deaf to his tactful suggestions.

He tasted whatever it was in his glass and winced at the bitter taste. It was unspeakably horrible, yet it somehow got his attention away from the things going on in his mind. An occasional smoke and the alcohol numbed his senses and dulled down the pain.

"What if I can't go back?" Kankuro whispered somewhere in the middle of his third glass.

Baki looked at him sympathetically. "You can stay here for as long as you like."

"No. It's too kind of you. Besides, I don't have any regular incomes. I'm only burdening you," Kankuro pointed out.

"Don't worry about it," the man said reassuringly and ruffled his brown hair.

Kankuro smiled at him, it was a very feeble smile but a smile nevertheless. Never before had he imagined his strict and punctual tutor could turn out to be such a caring, relaxed person. His worst fear had been that the man would've rejected his plea of help and told him to go back home.

"H-Huh?" Kankuro gasped as the man's hand landed on his bare thigh.

"You're a good kid," Baki told and his fingers touched his inner thigh.

Kankuro put his glass on the table and inched away on the couch. Baki's touch remained on him, however, and the slightest curl of his fingers got Kankuro to choke on something invisible.

"Compared to your siblings, you're clearly the most mature for your age," the man encouraged and leaned closer. "And I've never had a student as clever and diligent as you."

The praise felt good and it made him feel better about himself. As a middle child, he was often left without extra attention at home. The hand on his inner thigh never left and before he knew it his kimono had come untied. Baki was tracing the bruises on his skin with sensuality he hadn't imagined possible.

Kankuro reached for his glass again and emptied it in one gulp, coughing as the horrendous liquid finally went down. Politely, he tried to pull his kimono back to cover his chest.

"I would never kick you out. Some people would, did you know that?" Baki whispered and patiently parted the silky clothing covering the boy's upper body.

"And I would never hurt you, like your father," the man continued and then toppled him on the couch and settled in between his bare legs.

It didn't really surprise him what followed, but how easily he let it happen.

Saturday morning found him lying under the blanket, hiding away from the sunlight as Baki made breakfast for them in the kitchen.

He wanted to shower really badly but he couldn't move a muscle. He didn't want to leave the safety of his cocoon even though the sheets smelled of Baki and him, and it made him thoroughly sick.

* * *

With each passing day, going back home felt like an option more and more surreal. He had tried to find out what the current atmosphere at home was. If his siblings were to believe, he was not exactly welcomed there.

At school, he and Kiba had to go underground with their relationship. The reason to his boyfriend's sudden cautiousness was problems at home, and without further elaboration Kankuro understood.

To be able to eventually reach financial stability, Kankuro had managed to get a part-time job in a small grocery store. Even though its effect on his grades was negative and the paycheck was next to nothing, the hours away from his refuge offered him a much-welcomed, safe break.

Never the one to break down easily, Kankuro had visited local authorities for help. He had explained his situation as vaguely as he could, not revealing unnecessary details about the things that had started happening to him after he had moved in with the grown man he refused to name.

It was much easier to tell about his father and his unreasonable fits of anger. Opening up felt unreal, but what followed was something even more surrealistic.

He didn't need help. Clearly a young man with such a good physical condition was no match for an old man like his father. And the idea of him being incapable of preventing someone from touching him was utopian at best. Police was there for the situations when he wouldn't be able to defend himself, no matter how far-fetched the mental image seemed for them. But calling the police was hardly an option. It would only lead him living in the street faster than he could dial 911.

But now his time was already up, and seeing that his tuition payments were still funded by his father and he had a part-time job added to that, he had been deemed fully capable of taking care of himself.

Silenced and shamed, Kankuro had left the building.

The situation at his new home got hardly more bearable as months passed. Baki had noticed his continued reluctance and the way he always curled up into a pitiful ball afterwards. As concerned of his well-being as he was, the man decided to offer him an opportunity out of the situation.

Pictures. Videos. Showing him with another man, in order to help Baki fulfill his needs without having to touch him.

With a solid no he had refused, even when the man had pointed out it could be a quick way for him to collect the money he was so desperate about.

Nevertheless of his unfaltering opinion, one evening when he came back home, a strange man was sitting in the living room with Baki. Before he was about to lose the last shreds of his dignity, Baki whispered something to his ear: "Make it look like you're enjoying. It'll be over sooner."

As he should've known, it didn't end there. And no matter what Baki had promised him earlier, all the more often his hands found their way under his kimono, into his boxers, leading him into a trembling ball fifteen minutes later.

He didn't bother with the carafe anymore, but preferred to drink straight from the bottle. For some reason, their alcohol supply was never cut short and whenever he wanted, there was a pack of cigars waiting for him. And those times they weren't enough to numb the pain inside, he searched for something sharp to hurt himself with.

Baki had not taken well his attempts of self-harm. Not that he had tried to particularly stop him, or confiscate his preferred instruments.

Money was something that accumulated painfully slowly, keeping the dreams of an own place out of his reach. Each morning he looked at himself in the mirror and felt more sickened than the day before. Shame was a back bag full of bricks that was too heavy for him to carry around, and each evening he spent in this place added an extra pound of weight on his shoulders.

And the more he loathed himself, the more he started to believe that everyplace else would be worse than this.

Not only of himself, but he was sick of Baki and the men whose arms he was forced into. No protection was ever used, nor was he told who those men were, or where the pictures and videos of him ended up in.

By now, he had gotten familiar with the miscellaneous medicine hidden in the kitchen cabinet. If Baki was aware of his secret experiments, he never called him out. Some moments were purely unbearable while sober, and as weeks passed, his need for intoxication only strengthened.

He liked to think he still cared for himself, even just a little, but deep down he knew had no energy for a thing like that. All he had interest in was to crawl through yet another excruciating day, finding mindless joy whenever he was lucky enough to reach a blackout, which would hopefully wipe away whatever memories he had of the night before.

One evening he was feeling exceptionally edgy and ended up shouting at Baki. He threatened to move out, for finally he had collected enough money to afford one month's rent and a rent security deposit in someplace else.

The next day, a photo of a delicate subject – portraying him and an unrecognizable man – was left on the coffee table along with an open envelope with his family's address on it.

He wanted to rip the evidence no matter how futile it would be. Even though he cut off one head of that monster, another one would just grow back. Shame was so heavy on his back that he crawled to bed and when Baki later on came home and found him there, he didn't bother objecting him in any way. Afterwards, he was not a shaking ball under covers, but remained on his back, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if it was possible to drill a hook in there.

* * *

On an ordinary day an official-looking envelope was waiting for him at the kitchen table. Nervously he tore it open and the soft sound of paper ripping up filled the room.

His father had stopped paying his tuition payments.

After seeing the letter, Baki had offered his help. "But I wonder if you'll ever be able to pay me back."

Kankuro knew that. And rather than to receive any more financial help from his tutor, he decided to drop out of school.

The decision left him with awfully lot of free time, idle hours which were imperceptibly filled with drinking and smoking and coming up with more and more imaginative ways of inflicting self-harm. More than often, he felt like he was looking at himself from outside of his body, like he was not really there anymore.

What he saw was a boy that wasn't him. This all was happening to someone else.

On its own, his mind started making subtle suggestions. The knife forgotten on the kitchen table caught his attention, and for a fleeting moment he held it in his hands as he admired its round, wooden handle. Kankuro glanced at Baki's unsuspecting back. The blade was too short. It would take forever to kill him with that.

For days now, on his daily commute he had been standing close to the edge on the subway platform, ready to lean over before anyone noticed. But there was always a mop of brown or red or blond hair in the crowd he mistook for someone he knew, and before he could carry out his plan he became distracted, and decided to postpone his idea until another day.

* * *

When his sister called his prepaid number, for his earlier phone subscription had been long ago terminated by his father, he was surprised to hear anticipation in her voice.

"I moved out. I have a place of my own now," Temari told him over the line.

"Would you like to move in with me?" she asked and made him stop in his tracks.

That night, he ended up in a fight with Baki. For half the time he was there, but when the man grabbed him and got closer, he was leaving his body again and going someplace else in his mind. And after what he was put through, he was sure he wouldn't return into his own skin anytime soon. But when he was later on yanked away from the bed and thrown outside with a pile of wrinkled, partially torn clothes, he suddenly felt the cold asphalt on his bare behind and the world around him felt very, very real again.

His phone was left behind but thankfully, he had memorized his sister's address.

The look of pure shock on Temari's face was too much and he felt himself slipping away again into someplace safely numb.

Only when they were lying next to each other at night, Temari gently caressing his arm, did he come back to the present moment. He curled up into a trembling ball and sobbed, a thing he thought he'd unlearned by now.

Even after few weeks, he was still reluctant to spare much thought to what he had been put through. It was better not to think, and any day now an envelope with aggravating material inside could be posted to his sister – or even worse, to his father, or to his boss.

What he rather thought about was how his little brother was doing back at home. Living alone with their father was a situation he didn't want him to be in, and it was clear Temari shared his concern. Gaara wasn't old enough to work full-time yet, and stealing him away from the house would only lead him to drop out of school once the funding was sure to cease.

But when Kankuro heard that Baki was tutoring his little brother in order to get his grades in better shape (like they already weren't), he suddenly got the strength to go back to his former home one last time.

Gaara was in the middle of staying and leaving. The changed appearance of his older brother scared him, but the patient reasoning his sister always used, got him to calm down and bid goodbye to the rooms he had grown up in. The memories left behind were not all bad, but the fresh bruises on his arms didn't encourage Gaara to test his luck and stay.

The bed was far too narrow for the three of them, and Gaara – never the one to enjoy close proximity – was clearly uncomfortable in the middle. Kankuro hugged him tightly, as if afraid something irreversible had already happened to him, even though the innocence in his eyes told him otherwise.

That night, Kankuro felt safer than ever and to his shame he cried again, scaring Gaara of course, but receiving a comforting look from Temari.

Lulled in some sort of fragile serenity, Kankuro lounged on the sofa, listening to music with his headphones on. After the past, blurry weeks, he had started talking with Kiba again. Careful not to burden him with his past experiences, he had only told him the outlines of his current situation. At some point, he had been sure the other boy had already forgotten about him, but to learn he had actually missed him with fearful worry, made something warm build up in his heart.

But now, an e-mail from Kiba got his attention and he tapped it open. The message was short: is this you? Below the ominous words, there was a link.

Glancing around to make sure Gaara was nowhere in sight, he opened the link. It led to a shady-looking website he had never seen before. There was a video of him, and before any self-protecting instinct could kick in, he played it. He had never seen it before but he could clearly remember the moment. That pleasure-seething voice was not his, it was obviously recorded afterwards and then sloppily plastered on the video. He looked at his own face. It was not an expression of pleasure.

There were more videos, more pictures and the familiar sense of detachment slithered to him. Kiba had maybe seen them all. How many other people, who knew him, were aware of his past?

"What are you doing?"

Kankuro almost dropped his phone and tore the headphones out of his ears. Hastily, he turned off his phone.

"I was just listening to music," he told and in seconds his carefully-constructed mask of ease was in place.

Gaara seemed to buy his mood and sat down next to him. Kankuro looked at him worriedly, trying to find any evidence of something that might be troubling his little brother.

"Did Baki ever… er, make you feel uncomfortable, in any way?" he finally asked.

Gaara stared at him questioningly. "He yelled at me once, when I didn't right away understand Gödel's incompleteness theorems."

Kankuro ruffled his red hair. "Yeah, it's not an easy thing to figure out. But was that all, or is there something else?"

His little brother looked at him with a confused expression.

"Did he touch you?" Kankuro asked quietly.

The look of confusion deepened before Gaara shook his head. "No. Why would he do that?"

"He wouldn't, I just wanted to make sure you're not hiding things you shouldn't," Kankuro told.

His little brother frowned at him. "You know I don't lie. Why are you asking these things?"

But right then, the doorbell rang and Gaara hurried to meet his friend. The blond haired boy flashed Kankuro a smile when their eyes met.

"I'm going out with Naruto. I'll be back by six," Gaara told.

The apartment was now empty except for him. Temari would be at work for another four hours. Calmly, Kankuro got up from the sofa and closed the bathroom door behind him.

It hadn't really been him on that video, and it was most certainly not him sitting on the floor now, watching blood flow alarmingly easily from the open cuts on his arms. It hadn't been his voice, but how many would know that?

But what was worst, Kiba now knew what he was. And he would never look at him in the same way again.

He was getting comfortable with the decreasing levels of blood in his veins. Hopefully soon, he would once again feel the wonderful light-heartedness he had often felt as a kid, when future had still been full of endless opportunities. Probably he should deepen the cuts, just to make the last moments of his life go faster.

But the following moments happened so fast he had hard time recalling them afterwards.

Someone came into the apartment and just as soon the bathroom door was yanked open. Naruto screamed, alarming Gaara who dashed to the scene with his clothes equally wet from sudden downpour.

And all too soon, the boys were knelt beside him, wrapping his arms up with old T-shirts and other suitable textiles they had found in their hurry. If it hadn't been so terrified a look on his little brother's face, he would've groaned in disappointment. But perhaps now, the blond kid would finally unlearn his annoying habit of bolting through closed doors without advance warning.

Kankuro glanced at the shreds of clothes tied around his arms. In some sick, twisted way it was an endearing sight, but he was careful at not letting that thought proceed into an actual emotion.

At night, Kankuro was lying on the bed, head pressed under Temari's chin while she slowly caressed his shoulder. Gaara hugged his waist from behind and mimicked his sister's movements with his signature reservedness. Their concern and care felt painful to him, like it was an emotion he wasn't able to process. He wondered if they already knew, if father knew, what kind of rotten person he was.

If somebody recognized him, it wouldn't only mean countless of closed doors to him, but also unwanted invitations into situations he wanted to avoid at all costs. He was already afraid to walk outside late at night, or be left alone with other men – be they customers or co-workers, it was all the same.

In the morning, there was an unexpected guest waiting for him at the door.

Perplexed, Kankuro stared at heartbroken Kiba. As his thoughts proceeded further in the following seconds, his shoulders slumped as he realized what this reunion was about. It was time to say goodbye.

Kankuro was ready to close the door to his face just to spare them both from humiliating, painful last words, but the hand taking hold of his got him stop his intentions. Shyly, Kiba leaned into a short kiss, one he had certainly not been expecting.

Behind the closed door of the bedroom, Kankuro was able to open up about certain things, however shallowly. Thankfully his siblings had suddenly been in a hurry, and had quietly left the apartment. But when his friend found out about the makeshift bandages on his arms, a horrified, guilty look ruined his beautiful face.

It was not his fault. Kankuro told him that. He was bound to found out about the site, and maybe it was better to know it now than never. He hated when people cried, and now Kiba was doing just that. He told him to stop. Tears were making him uncomfortable, and all too soon a dangerous rumble started in his heart, where the dam locking up his protected feelings threatened to break.

He couldn't let it happen. If he did, he might get caught in the flood and be forced to relive the moments he had stubbornly detached himself from. He didn't want to go back. But the flood would take him there.

The desperation Kiba hugged him with was a strong push against the wavering dam. When he promised him with his sobby, emotional voice to always be there for him, and help him through whatever had happened to him, Kankuro choked back a cry. When he asked him if he was repulsed by what he had turned out to be, if he wanted him out of his life for good, Kiba only looked at him like he had said something absolutely crazy, and embraced him even tighter.

He was resilient, but not strong enough to prevent the flood of emotions that broke free from their prison. To his own ears it sounded like he was screaming when he let them all pass through him, taking him into dark rooms of memories he had been careful to bolt.

When he calmed down, Kiba was still there holding him with tears dried up on his cheeks. In the most natural of ways, he kissed him again, and Kankuro couldn't understand why he wasn't repulsed. He should be – he was unclean.

Obviously their narrow bed was way too small for four – it was too small for even three, but Kiba came back the next morning, and the next after that.

Some small details of his previous experiences were told to Temari, but not to Gaara. Like expected, she got first angry, ready to hunt down his wrongdoers, before a sense of desolation took place. He hated it when guilt colored her face. When he told her there was nothing she could've done, she refused to believe him.

Telling Gaara was difficult, yet he was positive he wouldn't cry. With that relief in his mind, Kankuro slowly let him into the past year of his life. Thankfully, he really didn't start sobbing, a thing Kankuro was sure he and his fluctuating emotions couldn't have survived.

But the sadder than sad look on his usually blank face broke his heart over and over again. He hated himself for bringing that hurtful emotion to his little brother's face. But then Gaara's expression softened and he pulled his older brother into a clumsy, good-hearted hug. They lay like that for a good while, and his wordless consolation was a welcomed change to Temari's boiling protection instinct and Kiba's overflowing sympathy.

Out of the blue, someone was knocking the door. Kankuro, alone at home, went to see who it was, already positive his sister had once again forgotten her keys.

But to see his father standing there was a surprise he had not prepared for. And it looked like the feeling was mutual.

"Where's Gaara?" the man asked.

"Not here," Kankuro said.

He was curious why the old man was suddenly so concerned about his youngest son's whereabouts, given how the redhead had fled home over two months ago. Of course, it was then Baki showed up from behind his back.

Anger flared in him at the sight, at the obvious innuendo behind this search, no matter how oblivious the old fogey surely was.

"We can wait."

It was Baki, using his calm, cunning voice he so often saved for occasions of subtle influence.

"Leave." Kankuro stared at the man defiantly, fists clenching by his sides.

Baki was already on his way out, when the fogey just had to ruin everything.

"Watch that tone of voice."

Aggravating the man would only end up in a fight, he if anyone should know that. But they were under his roof now, and he would not tolerate that kind of disrespectful attitude.

"Leave," Kankuro repeated.

"Why don't you make me," his father mocked.

And he knew he shouldn't have done it, but in a blind moment of pent-up, years-long anger, he punched the old man in the face.

Of course, that only got his father to accelerate from zero to hundred in half a second like he was the finest of sport cars. And in another half of a second, the man lunged at him, ready to show him his place.

But Kankuro had none of it, and instead of succumbing like he had been taught to, he defended himself with ferocity he didn't know was even possible. In the stairway right in front of the door, he gave his old man one last punch and shoved him against the nearby wall. The man slid down to the floor, the back of his head leaving a trail of red behind as he heaped into a limp tangle.

All it took for Kankuro to get all riled up again was a calm hand on his shoulder. But Baki foresaw that punch aimed at his way and captured his wrist with frustrating ease. And just as easily, the man grabbed his front and made him retreat back into the apartment.

Behind them, the door slammed shut and sense of utter loneliness came flooding back to Kankuro.

Pushed against the wall, his earlier defiance mysteriously vanished and he felt weak like a house of cards.

"Kankuro…" Baki whispered and caressed his cheek. "Calm down."

He would be damned if he let that soft voice influence him now.

"Take it easy," the man repeated softly and he wanted to comply. But the pain in his chest kept on growing.

"I've been worried about you," Baki confessed and touched his lips with his thumb. Kankuro turned his head away.

"Take down the videos," he said with his best venom, yet his voice came out feeble.

The gentle, almost fatherly look on Baki's face got undercurrents of something vile. "Only if you move back in with me."

"No," Kankuro replied.

"Please," Baki tried again. "It'll be different this time. I'll get you back to school, for free."

But Kankuro knew how pricy that 'free' was. "No."

His defiance didn't please the man at all. Like he was a mere rag doll, Baki gripped his chin.

"You're not in a position to say no to me," he reminded. "I put a roof over your head for free."

Kankuro laughed bitterly. "It was not for free."

Baki's eyes narrowed. "I didn't take any money from you."

"Yeah, you didn't. But the price I paid was much higher," Kankuro said accusingly and shoved the man away.

He swore he didn't plan any of it beforehand. With movements shockingly purposeful, he reached for the chest of drawers and smoothly went for the gun hidden in there. It weighed like sin when he pointed it towards the devil himself. He didn't remember the metal being ever so heavy.

Baki freezes to the spot, unable to look at anywhere but at the barrel aimed at his way. He raises his hands up and when he finds his voice, he tries to reason with the somber boy who only comes closer and closer. And just as calmly, he retreats from the weapon until his back thuds against a wall. Unlike he has planned, he has no time to swat the gun away because Kankuro is already there, pressing the barrel on his head and looking at him without any trace of regret.

He knows that look all too well.

With slumped shoulders, Baki tries to make himself as pitiful and non-threatening as possible, but the look on his former student's face doesn't change. Instead, the boy only pushes the gun tighter against his skin and Baki knows his afterlife is just one little pull away.

And he's sorry for not having lived by the rules, but a prayer will make it alright, won't it? – and with this last minute repent he will be granted access to a heavenly place, rather than to the fiery one down below…

When the gun's pressure leaves his temple he isn't sure whether to feel relieved or not. He expects to taste gun oil soon but instead of pushing the barrel into his mouth, the boy places the gun on his own head instead.

And there is that look in his eyes again. He has nothing to lose.

The door opens and Temari bursts in with Gaara in her wake, alarmed and about to say something. But suddenly she halts and falls silent, and with dread she stares at her little brother who's holding a gun to his head.

Something fills Kankuro's empty stare and he lowers the weapon, and his sister is there to grab it before it falls to the floor. Baki expects them to hug and he glances at the open door, but before he can take a step towards it, Temari blocks his way and grabs his front.

Kankuro stands unmoving in the small hallway, clutching Gaara in his arms protectively. The gun is once again hidden in the chest of drawers, and Kankuro is thankful, for his hands just keep on trembling. Even though he knows he shouldn't, he still feels a trace of pity towards his former tutor as Temari trounces him like the taekwondo master she is.

Just when they're about to send their unwanted guest out of their home, hurried stomps echo from the staircase and stop right at their door.

Somebody has called the police.

And even though the threat has resolved, Kankuro can't stop trembling. He somehow makes it through the questions the police ask him, but leaves out the fact he has pointed a man with a gun. What he is able to catch from the conversation between Baki and the officers, his ex-tutor does not mention the incident, either.

Tell them, his mind urges. Tell them what he did to you.

Tell them.

Emotion tightens in his chest and the pressure of the barrel returns to his temple like a lucid dream.

 _Tell them!_

He can't.

They will say he's completely capable of defending himself, and has always been. A glance at his unconscious father will mute any objections.

The idea of someone seeing the videos hurts too much. He would much rather die.

They will not believe he isn't consent on those tapes. His pretended pleasure will fool them, and when they learn he's earned some money that way, he will be nothing but just another prostitute in their eyes.

And he has no proof of what was done to him when the camera was off. His ex-tutor is not on the material. It's just his word against Baki's.

Nobody will believe him.

It makes him feel ashamed.

 _Tell them!_

He stays quiet.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Thank you for reading._

 _Victim-blaming is sadly a real thing. It would be better to take a beating on the street than get punched at home (and same goes with abuse) – police is reluctant to interfere whatever goes on in the sanctity of people's homes. And in the end of the day, all society can do is tell you it's your fault. Why were you so stupid in the first place to get in the receiving end of that baseball bat? Why didn't you say no when he put his hand in your boxers? Sigh._

 _And with that encouraging message, victims are expected to stop the abuse and resolve the situation just like that._

 _So it's better to stay quiet, because there's only so much crap you can take from the world. It's better to suffer in silence and hope the pain will eventually grow numb._

 _And that's why I left Kankuro in state of desperation and pain. In the way I see it, that's the final stop._

 _What else would there be?_


End file.
